To the Victor
by WeAreAllStoriesInTheEnd
Summary: It's the 70th annual Hunger Games and now only two tributes remain. Whoever wins, their victory will end on a bittersweet note. Chuck/Sarah


**An: **I was going to wait until March 29th to post this one-shot, but decided after listening to the _Hunger Games _OST; I had to write this now. Here is the first ever Chuck/HG crossover. And if you know anything about the books, you must know that this won't end well.

Sorry in advanced.

Thanks to **Aerox **for helping me as always. :)

Enjoy!

**An2: 8/5/12, **Ok, so I rewrote it. The outcome doesn't change, I just felt it wasn't good enough on my first attempt.

* * *

><p>Night had just fallen and there was still so much fire. It lit up the sky, turning it a deadly shade of crimson while plumes of smoke clouded the horizon. It was raining ash. The forest was ablaze. As were the hearts and minds of those who watched, manipulated and participated in the Games. Everything burned.<p>

There were only two left. A boy and girl; covered in the sweat, blood, and tears of those who'd fallen before them. Hundreds of hidden cameras overlooked this impending standoff from varying angles. The hovercraft circled around the arena, ignoring the booms of the canon as it signaled the deaths of the other competitors. It was nearly impossible to swoop in and recover the bodies. The visibility had been tainted by the fiery conditions. So the hovercraft, as well as everyone else who were viewing the Games—either televised from the twelve Districts, or observing them from the Capitol—was frozen with anticipation. An overwhelming silence took over Panem. Their collective thoughts focused on the outcome, waiting for the inevitable.

Who would rise to the occasion?

Who would fall?

Who would be crowned the victor of this year's Hunger Games?

Time would tell soon.

The boy from District 3 chose to ignore these questions. It'd be a waste of time; spending those final, precious moments of his life mulling them over incessantly. Plus, he could hardly hold himself up. Much less strategize or over-think about meaningless things.

Like life or death.

It was a losing battle, trying to stand. The leg that was in decent shape, the right one, tried to keep steady. His other trembled. It was bent at the knee, at an angle too awkward to be considered normal. His pants were tattered and torn to shreds as well, from his constant running and fighting. There was no doubt in his mind that he'd broken something. Maybe even worse than that… It'd been _that _kind of day.

The boy's body swayed back and forth. Like a pendulum counting down the seconds until he'd just go ahead and collapse. Fatigue was a killer in itself. Despite his many adversaries he'd faced during the Games, his exhaustion was what got the best of him. It pulled him down, to where the ground came to meet him. It was both wet and cool, a welcoming resting place.

For awhile, he just laid there; lost between wakefulness and total oblivion. His eyelids fluttered. His breathing slowed. Yet he still fought to stay conscious, staring absently at the obsidian sky. His thoughts, clunky and as uncoordinated as they were, wondered how disappointed the Capitol was by his performance. He imagined their groans of dismay; their change in allegiance to the fair-haired girl from District 2; and finally, their unanimous chant for his death.

Death was inescapable. It had loomed in the forefronts of his and every other tribute's mind since Reaping. It was like a nightmare he was trying to run away from. Now as it crept up on him, it felt so real, so final. He hoped it was like taking a nap. No pain, just a heaviness that he wouldn't be able to avoid as he'd be pulled under. That'd be fine he guessed. Unless of course, the girl from 2 found him first. Who knew what she'd do? She wasn't very merciful. The Capitol had branded her the Wildcard because her game was a complete mystery. She was quiet, never spoken unless forced to, and nobody trusted her. Even her male counterpart from District 2 abandoned her. Then he turned on her when the perfect opportunity arose. All of Panem knew how that one played out…

His bloodied lips twitched at the memory. He'd thought he was so damn clever. Back then anyway. But it was apparent that cleverness wasn't enough to survive the Hunger Games. The players were called Tributes for a reason. They were meant to give themselves away; mind, body and soul if they wanted to be a contender to the very end. He had forfeited two of those so far. And chance told him that it was likely he was going to die no matter what. But since the day of the Reaping, he vowed that if there was one thing that the Hunger Games would never take away from him, it was his soul.

* * *

><p>She had stumbled upon the boy from District 3 by pure accident. It was only moments earlier that she'd disposed of the redheaded girl from District 10. She'd been a cheeky, manipulative girl who had been the closest thing to an ally to her. <em>Almost. <em>

It'd taken a long, daunting chase through the maze-like bog to track her down. Eventually she had her cornered, trapped deep in the muck. The redhead's body now floated face down in the murky water, her clothes soaked with blood from multiple stab wounds to the back.

After, the girl from District 2 had trudged to the mouth of the swamp, lingering in its shadows as she'd watched the fire spread. It'd engulfed the forest across from her. Then three more canons had sounded off. She'd counted the remaining tributes in her head. There'd been six alive at sunrise. Four had perished since then. It was dusk, and so that meant two remained. Her and…

The fire had managed to flush him out, that elusive boy from District 3. He'd leapt from a tree, rolling onto the grass before picking himself up into a limping sprint towards the clearing. As he began to check his surroundings, she brandished her knife once again. Her brain visualized what it'd take to end this game.

_Not much, _she realized once noticing his vulnerability. He had been staring ahead, perhaps through her before his body betrayed him. He collapsed and she stared at his prone form warily, convinced that this was some kind of hoax. He couldn't be giving up. Not like this. Could he?

She didn't know what to think about this. Let alone think about him. Didn't he understand the implications if he were to surrender his life? His death would impact so much more than just himself. He'd be branded a coward. His District dishonored, his family humiliated. Worse, her victory would mean absolutely nothing.

He wasn't a pushover. She knew that. The other tributes (a little too late perhaps) knew that. The Gamemakers, the Capitol and the entire country knew that. He must've been well aware of that fact as well, which was what confused her most about his "supposed" forfeit. She'd studied the boy from District 3 long before the Games began. It started during the opening ceremony (he wore a tuxedo with neon green stitching and bowtie, that glowed like plutonium, oddly fitting for a District that prided itself on technology) then the following weeks of intense training (he was good at running and making traps of all kinds. He had a dangerous knack for bomb-making too), and finally the interviews with Caesar Filckerman. Everybody seemed to adore him for his bumbling speech, quick-witted humor, and disarming looks. Even the tributes—his _enemies—_were taken aback by his friendliness. While she never exchanged so much as a greeting with the boy from 3, she had eavesdropped on him plenty of times. Most of these instances consisted in him chatting with just about anyone with a set of ears and a heartbeat. But no one else paid as good of attention to what his voice was saying, rather than his words, but her. It was often laden with heavy thoughts that took precedence over his cheerful, boyish smile and stirred something dreadful from within herself.

Since then, to say she was intrigued was an understatement. Sometimes she felt like one of Finnick Odair's female fans from the Capitol, fawning over this boy who she hardly knew at all. That repulsed her enough to fabricate a strong hatred for everything about him; his smiles, his willfulness, his mercy, and of course his brilliance.

She'd expected him to die in the initial bloodbath. He wasn't cut-out for the Hunger Games. He was just too nice of a guy. Expectations were already low after he suffered from a mediocre rating of 6 during his private session. But her opinion of him changed dramatically once he was tossed into the wild with twenty-three others. He led them all, one by one, to their own undoing. Traps. Decoys. Starvation. Illness. Explosives. The boy from District 3 was this year's Hunger Games underdog.

And yet there he was. Dying slowly beneath the smoky, twilit sky. No amount of the sponsor's gifts could save him now. She idly plotted the best course of action. He was a worthy opponent, and she figured he deserved an honorable death.

She approached the clearing cautiously, knife held at a defensive angle in case he'd attack her. It was better to be safe than sorry. Her boots crunched on top of the soot-covered grass; a distinctive change from the squishy earth she'd waded through back in the swamp. She was positive that the longer she crept, the more likely it was that he'd soon hear her. If he had already, he showed no hint of it. He was just lying there…

Her frustration spiked.

"Aren't you going to at least try?" she asked, voice breaking the silence. The flames had long since been reduced to a dull roar in the background.

The boy didn't move. She didn't think he would, yet hung back a good distance. Close enough still to watch as his eyes drew apart. They were like pools of darkness; big and endless like the abyss, as well as frighteningly blank. Beside herself, she shuddered.

"Nope," he answered. His voice was so irritatingly calm for someone who was about to die. His peace angered her. If she'd been in the same situation, she'd resist death with every ounce of her being. So why wasn't he?

"Why not?" she snapped at him. "You didn't give up when there were twenty-four of us here at the start! It's just you and me now. You still have as good of a chance as me to win!"

The boy startled her with his hoarse, bitter laugh. "Any may the odds be ever in your favor." He said, mocking the Capitol accent. He lifted his head slightly, leveling his gaze with hers. There was some life left in those chocolate eyes of his. "I don't think we've been formally introduced."

She recoiled, shaking her head numbly. "No, no we haven't. You're Chuck."

His smile didn't reach his eyes as he spoke, tone neutral. "And you're Sarah. It's nice to finally meet you. Well, we _did _technically meet each other earlier. Sort of. But now we're talking! Talking was always the next logical step…"

Sarah cut him off before he could continue rambling. "It's better if we don't talk," she said.

"Ah, right. Because it's bad for the ratings, huh?" Chuck looked up again and shouted at the night sky. "Is this boring enough for you?!"

The hovercraft froze in midair, flashing its beams on both Chuck and Sarah. Chuck pushed himself upright, grinning manically like he was purposefully egging on the Gamemakers. Meanwhile Sarah looked horrified.

"Do you have a death wish?!" she hissed.

Chuck stared at her. He indicated her knife, still dripping with the blood of the girl from District 10. Her grip on the hilt loosened. "Isn't it kind of obvious? I'm defenseless. No weapons. You seem to be well equipped over there with that knife of yours. It may not be the answer you want to hear, but I'm not lying. Yes."

"Yes?" she repeated. This was too suspicious. "You really want to go out in second place?"

Chuck's smile faded. "If only it was just second place. It's a lot more complicated than that. I'm not earning a silver medal, or participatory ribbon. I'm going to die like everybody else."

Sarah hated how matter-of-fact he was acting about this. The longer he flapped his mouth, the more ammunition the Capitol would have against his District. It wouldn't matter if he lived or died now. He was disgracing their Games. They'd make his people suffer. She squeezed the knife's grip until her knuckles bled white. "God dammit, why won't you just fight for your life?"

"Why are you so intent on trying to keep me alive? Isn't this entire thing designed to pit us against each other? I gave it my all and it clearly wasn't enough. So that's that, and this is it." Before Sara could argue, he added. "To be honest, I'm glad I made it this far."

"You're making this too easy. How do I know that this isn't a trick?"

"I'm a terrible liar, that's why," he admitted. "I also pegged you as being at least moderately intuitive, so I assumed you would've gathered by now that killing isn't my forte."

She bristled. "What makes you think that I paid any attention to you?"

Chuck snorted incredulously. "My sister says I'm pretty clueless, to a fault, but even _I _noticed you stalking me since we came to the Capitol."

"Alright," Sarah conceded. "If I was "stalking" you and you knew about it, then why am I alive? I get that you don't get your hands dirty, but I've seen you. I know how you set up the other tributes to die. It was indirect, sure. But you're far from innocent."

"I'd like to imagine that my restraint from killing you is combination of me being chivalrous, and the better person in general. Don't you think? Any of you could've killed me, but the moral high ground was always mine. Now that we have that out of the way, the real question here is why haven't you killed me yet? You've had plenty of chances."

Sara set her jaw and averted her gaze. Chuck knew just as well as she did as to why his life had been spared till now. He wasn't the gloating type. What he really wanted was for her to explain it though, the reasoning behind her choice. Chuck had inadvertently saved her life on the first day of the Games. The boy from her District had betrayed her. He was handsome, broad-shouldered and strong; a top contender. He had chased her through the forested portion of the arena until she'd tripped over a log in her haste.

Then as if by some miracle, he was snatched by one of Chuck's hidden snares. A noose looped around his ankle, the bone snapping in half as he was hung upside down from the highest branch of a tree. Sarah was about to flee, but not before she'd caught a glimpse of her accidental savior. Chuck had emerged from a denser area of the forest and walked amiably below her would-be killer, beaming as he praised the success of his trap. She remembered distinctly, waiting for him to kill her traitorous partner. But he hadn't. Chuck had left him there, swinging back and forth until an axe-wielding tribute from District 6 came along and finished him off with a single, sickening blow to the head.

Sarah owed him her life. That's (mostly) why she kept tabs on him. She showed him her gratitude by avoiding him altogether. He must've concluded the same, why she'd refused to harm him for so long—after so many wasted opportunities to end his life before he could do the same to hers. Because Sarah understood that he wouldn't hurt her either.

He'd rather die than put her life on the line.

But would she—could she, do the same?

It'd be an act of rebellion in the eyes of the Capitol. There was no ignoring them. They were always watching, expecting bloodshed and a sole survivor. The sole survivor in question would be her. It had to be.

"Curiosity," she half-lied. "I was curious about you."

"You know what they say, curiosity killed the cat," drawled Chuck with a perfect Cheshire grin. He was toying with her. "I don't think you want to make that same mistake twice."

His playful words sent shiver trailing down her spine. Sarah took a daunting step forward, showing that she wouldn't be so easily dissuaded. Her sudden advancement did not intimidate him in the slightest. If anything, Chuck's expression turned decidedly smug.

There was nothing worse than a cocky dead man. She clenched her teeth, realizing that if killing him would wipe that irresistible smirk off his face, then she'd do it. She wouldn't even think twice.

_Kill him and be done with it, _urged her conscience. _He wants it. He's practically begging for it. _Self-preservation was driving her senses into frenzy. However her heart (damned thing) insisted on keeping that lanky boy alive just for a little while longer.

She owed him, remember?

No.

She _had _owed him.

They were even now.

Chuck tilted his head. "You're quiet. What's on your mind?"

She snapped out of her thoughts and shot him a look of disbelief. He just wouldn't stop talking! He must be teasing her. It seemed like he was enjoying it too. Maybe this was his plan all along? Conflicted and perplexed by his intentions, Sarah was beyond incensed.

"Shut up!" She lashed out.

Unfazed, Chuck shuffled up to his feet. Sarah's anger dissipated once she realized the seriousness of his condition. Chuck had trouble standing, his right leg wobbling underneath the weight of his body. There was a gash at his knee, slash marks with blood spilling from the wound. She knew who was responsible, or rather what.

The mutant dogs.

They'd been released by the Gamemakers when it came down to the final four, and one nearly tore Chuck to pieces. Its giant paw must've shattered Chuck's leg. It was amazing that Chuck had enough strength to climb that tree. He hid up there till the dogs fled.

"You don't want to kill me."

She raised a brow. "I was trained at the Academy specifically so I'd volunteer as tribute. I was born to be here. I've already killed nine tributes. What makes you think that I won't make you number ten?"

"I can see it in your eyes," said Chuck and limped towards her. "Say what you will about the Academy training you to become a murderer…but those aren't the eyes of a killer, Sarah. Those are the eyes of a survivor. You attack to defend yourself. Seeing as I'm not an immediate threat, you haven't and still won't find it acceptable to kill me. And I won't kill you either. This of course puts us at an interesting stalemate, one that the Capitol might not approve of."

"Upsetting the Capitol is exactly why I have no choice," Sarah stressed with a whisper before pausing, finding it hard to say the rest. It didn't roll off the tongue like it used to. "I have to…"

She trailed off, but Chuck knew what she was trying to tell him. He knew and it was alright. He closed the gap between them, slow to move but Sarah showed no signs of retreating. She was tired, emotionally drained by the hell she'd endured. All she wanted was to go home. Was that too much to ask?

"I understand," he sighed. "I've had plenty of sleepless nights where I prepared for this moment. If you don't kill me, here and now, the infection in my leg will. There is no such thing as a happy ending for me."

"You can still win," was Sarah's feeble protest. "And then the Capitol will treat your injuries and everything will be alright…"

"We're talking in circles, Sarah. If I can't hurt you, there's no way I can win. I won't compromise myself like that, I'm sorry."

"That's not fair! Why are you allowed to refuse to compromise yourself when I have to do it again and again?!"

"Like I said, you're a survivor."

Sarah glared at him tearfully, this tall kindhearted boy. "Then what does this make you?"

"A martyr I guess," he joked. "So don't let my death be in vain, ok?"

Her grip on the knife faltered again. Tears welled in her eyes as Chuck stood right in front of her, eclipsed by the moon so that his once hollow brown eyes were luminescent. He sensed her dismay and reached out, covering his hand over hers that held the bloodstained weapon. Gently, he pushed it down to where it posed no threat. Then he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close.

The last person who hugged Sarah like this was her own mother. That was after her named was called out during the Reaping ceremony. Then she was ripped away from her loving embrace by the Peacekeepers and sent on a train from her District to Hell itself.

The thought of her family and the possibility of never seeing them again were almost too much to bear. Sarah choked out a sob, burying her face in Chuck's chest. He was a total stranger to her, yet she let him hold her tightly as she cried, cursing the Capitol and their Hunger Games.

Chuck whispered. "It's time, Sarah."

She glanced up at him. Lip trembling, she said. "Please don't make me do this. I-I can't do this anymore. You were right. I can't kill anyone in cold blood."

"It's not cold blood," he told her softly. "All I'm asking for is mercy. I deserve that, and you deserve to win. You fought so hard, Sarah, and I just ran around looking for ways to not get myself killed. District 2 will be so proud of you. So will the Capitol. I'm a coward, not a champion. That's why you have to walk out of here alive."

"No, please. Chuck, I can't do this!" she begged. "I _can't!"_

"Listen, yes you can and you will." Chuck shushed her. "Just promise me one thing."

Sarah whimpered. "Anything…"

His final request was left unspoken. Sarah knew what was coming, and she felt her eyes shut as he dipped his head before capturing his lips with hers. The kiss lasted for an instant. It was short and sweet, the perfect length for them. The first of many for Sarah, but the last Chuck would ever get.

She wondered if that had been his first kiss too. And if it had, did he do it as a reassuring gesture, or was it to get the Capitol to sympathize with her once he'd been murdered by her hand? Whatever the reason, she'd never learn the truth.

His lips lingering above hers, Chuck murmured. "Please, do it now."

Sarah obliged.

Thrusting her knife, Chuck gasped aloud. She felt the blade pierce through his tattered clothes, sinking into his flesh. The hilt buried deep into his heart. He staggered, falling into her arms before sliding down onto his knees. Sarah held him steady throughout. She carefully lowered him onto his back. Her gaze was fixed on his. His brown eyes swirled with a mix of pain and relief. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth, and despite the quickness of death overcoming him, Chuck smiled.

"I'm so sorry," she said, voice hoarse from the sting of the flames and her tears. "It's not fair. I wish we met differently. We'd probably been friends, or something." She chuckled and so did he. "I know its too late for that, but it doesn't mean I won't forget you, Chuck. You saved my life. Twice. Thank you."

And as his eyes began to fade, he whispered softly. "Congratulations."

A few seconds later and a canon fired a single shot into the air to signal the death of District 3th's last tribute, Charles Irving Bartowski. There was no time to mourn for his loss. With his final breath, Sarah Lisa Walker of District 2 was pronounced the official champion of the 70th Hunger Games.

Needless to say, it was a bittersweet victory.

* * *

><p><strong>An: <strong>Baw, I killed Chuck! It seriously was I kill him, or I have him betray Sarah at the last moment and stab her as he dies as well. To be honest, I felt that the former was more in character. I apologize for the downer story. But the _Hunger Games_ is a downer trilogy. This also takes place during the 70th Games aka 4 years before the books start.


End file.
